


Caim

by GreyPezzola



Series: A Study in Synonyms [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Comfort, Discussion of broodmothers, F/M, References to Suicide, references to death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyPezzola/pseuds/GreyPezzola
Summary: It had been too casual a question.  “You got poison?”She had asked, suspicious of the question, “No.  Why?”“Broodmothers aren’t born, they’re made.  If you get caught— a corrupted dwarva woman like you could spawn thousands of them.” The explanation is to the point, straight forward, and horrifying. Dwarva women create broodmothers; the process barely comprehensible.  She can't breathe.





	Caim

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't explicitly describe how broodmothers are made; however, it does discuss using suicide as a better alternative to becoming a broodmother. If you are interested in the process, read the wiki. But it's pretty horrible.

Dwarven women become broodmothers.

Her hands are shaking. She’d heard the stories when she was small, holding onto Rica out of fear. These horrible monstrous mothers who would send their brood after naughty children who wandered too far into the deep roads.

Broodmothers are mutated dwarva women.

When she’d gotten a bit older, she’d found the moralistic quality of those stories profoundly irrelevant, nothing she could do would change her mother’s disdain for her. She had understood the message though: darkspawn could be anywhere in the deep roads and no one cared if a duster brat went missing. She had known her mother wouldn’t have cared too much.

It had been too casual a question. “You got poison?”

She had asked, suspicious of the question, “No. Why?”

“It’s dangerous for a dwarf like you,” He had responded gruffly, “Irresponsible, even. You don’t want to lead to more of these monsters do you, grey warden?”

“What do you mean?”

“Broodmothers aren’t born, they’re made. If you get caught— a corrupted dwarva woman like you could spawn thousands of them.” The explanation is to the point, straight forward, and horrifying.

Of course she had questions. Why wasn’t everyone told this? That hadn’t been the point of the stories when she was a kid, death had been the worst possible fate, not that. Not corruption. How did this happen? Why? Why, why, why? 

How?

She can’t remember what she had said, but somehow she had left without drawing too much attention to herself. Maybe that was Karol’s doing, maybe it was her relative invisibility. Funny how only in Legion could she find dwarva who could honestly ignore her brand and her actions. So she had left the encampment and walked further into the tunnels, away from the infestation. And then Sigyn had found a wall and just climbed up, up, up until her muscles burned and she could almost ignore her thoughts as she hauled herself over the lip of a shelf in the cavern’s walls. Then she had slumped down on the sturdy rock beneath her and shook.

Dwarva women create broodmothers, the process barely comprehensible.

Alistair had told her thirty years until the taint took her. She had thought it strange that he assumed she would live that long and that she would have such a defined end to her life. Sigyn had never thought her life would extend so far. Dusters don’t live, don’t thrive, her life was just supposed to be a mad fight to survive and hopefully help those she loved like Rica, like Les-, to live while she could and not expect anything more.

Dwarva women are forcefully turned to broodmothers until all they know is the dark.

She never viewed her body as a source of unthinking violence. She is fierce and destructive and calculating, but she’s always been in control. Sigyn knows she might not always have had as much freedom to control as she does now that she’s a warden, but even when she had limited control it wasn’t like this. Her body has never felt more like a trap. The only time her brand isn’t what marks her only comes at a horrifying fate.

She can’t breathe.

Broodmothers and their spawn, she’s never wanted children. Broodmothers, dwarva women; dwarva women, broodmothers; broodmothers, her.

Someone’s coming, struggling to climb up the wall. Sigyn grabs her dagger and the bottle of poison she had been given. She leans over the ledge, ready to shove them to their death, although with how much they are struggling, they might not need her help.

“Alistair?” she asks at the ruffled blonde hair she sees.

“Ah, yes. Didn’t try to sneak up on you,” he looks up at her and at what he sees his face falls. He redoubles his efforts to climb. He strains as he climbs, but even seeing him struggle isn’t enough to shake the thought rattling around inside her head.

Alistair eventually pulls himself over the ledge and lays on the ground next to her and groans. “How you do this I’ll never understand.”

“Cave dweller,” she says simply, still frozen when she sits.

“Right,” he huffs a sigh and then draws himself onto his knees.

Broodmothers are made from people like her. Violently, forcefully, and she could—

He taps her shoulder. The touch is light and it interrupts the thought, almost calms it. She nods her head numbly and warm arms wrap around her. Alistair is sturdy, strong, and solid. She’s shaking and he’s not. She’s so damnably corruptible and he’s human, too tall, too warm, too bright, too human. Alistair cups the back of her head and murmurs something soothing.

The thought stops; the tears start.

Her whole body shakes with sobs as she finally feels her fear. The fear of death isn’t new, but suddenly even the stone underneath her feels sinister. A place that once felt like home holds forces that are more likely to turn own body against her.

Alistair shifts them so she is sitting in his lap, arms around her. She’s still crying, breaths coming in unsteady pulls. He’s humming a tuneless song and pressing gentle kisses on her face. When she pauses to wipe her nose on the back of her arm, she is hit with a different thought that just hangs there pleasantly in her mind, fully drowning out all the panic she had been feeling.

“Hello,” he smiles at her as she looks at him in revelation.

“Hi,” she replies shakily, tears still falling.

The rock and stone has always felt like home and, when she had happened to find caves on their journeys, homecoming. But he’s smiling at her and they are surrounded by the solid walls that made up her world for most of her life and he alone feels like home.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks. Alistair is genuine, kind, and seems to be utterly unconcerned with the trail of snot and tears she’s left on him.

Sigyn nods and takes a few steadying breaths. “I was t-talking—” she stutters and her face crumples. Alistair wipes away her tears as she tries to form words.

“I was t-told…” she tries again to no avail. He taps her again, this time on her shoulder and then he lightly tugs her arm. It’s not enough to actually move her, but Sigyn still follows his motion and tucks her head underneath his chin as he had implied.

Secure in his arms, she tries for a third time. “Darkspawn broodmothers are made from dwarven women. We can be corrupted and—” her even tone fails her and she’s sobbing again.

Alistair tenses when he comprehends what she had said and then he holds her a bit tighter. “Sigyn…” he nuzzles the top of her head, but before he can finish his thought she interrupts him.

“You can’t let that happen to me.” she says, “They gave me poison, but should I—”

“It won’t happen.” He says firmly. “We happen to be quite formidable.” She pulls away from him.

“No!” she says through her tears. “Alistair, if they get me I need you to—” she inhales and tries again, “I need you to—.” She takes his hand from around her waist and wraps them around her throat. She holds them there and hangs her head, but her words are sharp and determined. “I will not become one of those monsters. If you won’t, I’ll ask Oghren. He won’t care about the life of a brand.”

Alistair flexes his fingers, not enough to restrict her breathing, and nods. He leans forward and rests his forehead against hers. “I understand.”

Sigyn kisses him, his warm hands still around her throat, her hands wrapped around his wrists. Her life is being held in his hands and she’s never been more comfortable with the notion.

When they surface for air, much faster than they otherwise would because her nose is still clogged from crying, he reaches up and rubs a thumb over her branded cheek. “Before we resort to killing you though, can we try one thing first? It’s something I learned in my time as a grey warden, before all this.”

She nods. Alistair smiles and kisses her forehead. “We need to stand up for this.”

Alistair does not stop touching some part of her body as they detangle themselves and stand up. The constant contact is grounding and she’s grateful for his touch. He stands behind her, wraps one arm around her waist and presses her to his chest as he explains what he is doing, “Duncan taught me this when I was feeling very scared and fragile. Give me your hand.”

His body hugs her and forms a protective layer around her as he has her point her finger to the ground, his hand resting on hers. “It’s a prayer or a spell of sorts. The Maker may not be yours, but it might help.”

She looks up at him, her head resting against his chest. He flushes slightly and clears his throat. Slowly he turns them in a circle. “Wherever we walk, the Maker is with us, I ask Him to circle you in his love. May He circle you to keep peace within and fear without; keep light near and darkness afar.”

They complete one spin, but Alistair keeps turning them. “May He keep hope within and hatred out; keep protection near and danger afar; keep love within and doubt without.”

They stop spinning, but he does not move their hands. “May He stand in this circle with us and may He keep you in his sight.”

They stand there with their arms still outstretched, but while Sigyn can’t say believes, she can say it helps. She may not believe in Him, but she does believe in him. Sigyn frees her hand from his grip and turns in his arms.

She taps his chest and he wraps his other arm around her waist in response. Sigyn goes up on her toes and he leans down so they can kiss. “Thank you,” is all she can say.

He chuckles and kisses her nose, “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick notes:
> 
> A caim circle is a Gaelic prayer done by drawing an invisible circle around oneself using one's hand. It is a sanctuary to remind you that you are safe and loved even in the darkest of times.
> 
> The process of becoming a broodmother is nasty and I am fully aware that it is all vagina owners, not just dwarven ones, who can become them. However, I'm not sure if the dwarves assembled would know that humans, elves, and qunari can also be turned as the textual evidence given in origins is that grey wardens are sparse and they tend to be men.
> 
> How I personally interact with different religions is as such, I might not believe in their high power(s), but if someone blesses you, casts a spell for you, etc. you take it with grace and thanks.
> 
> Also look! Another response to a panic attack. Get some place hidden, defensible, and then hamster wheel with one thought until it's all you can feel.


End file.
